


This Wicked, Nameless Game

by hooksandheroics



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, F/M, Smut, Voyeurism, just two really hot strangers showing off their hotness
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-07
Updated: 2015-05-07
Packaged: 2018-03-29 11:02:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3893959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hooksandheroics/pseuds/hooksandheroics
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All they have between them are her half-mast window, and a twenty-yard oval ten floors below. With her eyes and her smirk and her fingers gripping the hems of her shirt, the boundaries don't matter.</p><p>She loves this game; so does he.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Wicked, Nameless Game

**Author's Note:**

> I suggest listening to The Weeknd's Wicked Games. Damn son, that song is hot. ;)

Exactly 4:08 in the morning when the door to her dorm room lets her in – she’s got those single bed dorm rooms like his, small and narrow and cramped, but private. His sight is limited when he can only gaze at her through their adjacent windows, hindered by a ten-yard oval ten floors below and her occasional thin curtain.

But tonight – there are no curtains, just her clear, half-mast window and her messy desk. She drops her bag on her bed and slumps on her desk chair, heaving a sigh of weariness. Her golden blonde hair’s a bit tousled, a bit messy, and some of her make-up is running, and she looks like shit, but his focus zeroes in on her. Writing his thesis paper be damned.

And he should feel like a creep, spying on a girl, literally peeping through her window, but she’s hardly innocent, so when she looks up at him as if she knows where to find his gaze, as if she’s expecting him to be there and smiles at him as her fingers trail down to the hem of her shirt, he leans back on his chair and gives her his own smirk.

And so, the show begins.

* * *

 

The first time this happened, it has been a long day for him. Exactly 1:40 in the morning, he had finally unlocked his door after battling with the keyhole for what felt like an hour. He hit the light and dropped on the office chair near his own desk, his gut weighing down at the slew of readings strewn on top. He had a lot of things to do, chapters to catch up on, a page of his thesis to write, and a whole lot of other things to deal with – thinking about it gave him a headache.

Before he knew it, he’s tugging his shirt up and off of him, his hands finding the top button of his jeans and popping it open, and then sliding his zipper down. It took him a good minute to get hard, but touching himself, his palm sliding down his chest, imagining someone else’s hands on him, had definitely helped.

With his head thrown back, and his chest heaving, and sweat trickling down his neck, and his cock throbbing in his grip, he had looked ahead –

Wide blue eyes, parted lips, she was staring at him in fascination. There she was, standing in her room, her grip around her bag’s sling tight and stern, but her focus was on him – or rather, what he was doing. It should not have, but the fire licked up his spine at the look on her face; innocent, amused, _hungry_ – fucking beautiful. She was watching him without shame – or she may be unaware, but it made _him_ want.

He came on his stomach, hard.

He opened his eyes just in time to see her averting hers. He felt a smug kind of satisfaction seeing her flustered reaction, and his lips turned up in a smirk, one that she definitely had caught just right before she dropped the blinds on him.

He didn’t know her name then, still didn’t know it the second time it happened. This sick twisted game, he had initially thought it was his exhibitionist streak getting the best of him, a one-time thing showing off to that shy girl living in the dorm room with a window adjacent to his. But then, it occurred again, and this time, he was the audience.

He was knee deep in writing an essay, while simultaneously slipping a sentence or two into his thesis paper when he looked up and saw her lifting the blinds away from her window. It was 4 in the fucking morning, and she had thrown him a smirk and he was done with writing.

She was wearing a thin white tank top and the tiniest denim shorts he has ever seen, standing behind her desk with what looked like a piece of paper ripped off from a sketchpad. She leaned over her desk and fetched a pen, started scribbling on the paper. A few more seconds and she was holding up a sign in black ink up close to her window –

_Repaying the favor._

He only had a second to think _‘fuck’_ before she was discarding the paper and lifting her shirt up – of course, she was wearing nothing underneath that tank top. Her hair fell around her like a halo, blonde tresses messy and tangled, and his fingers itched to run through them, but he couldn’t. Instead, he watched as she started in on her shorts, shimmying out of them with a slight wiggle of her hips, leaving her in nothing but her dark panties.

He was aware of how hard he was getting, of how uncomfortable the confines of jeans were, so he unzipped his zipper and relieved himself.

Her hands were trailing down her neck, in between her breasts (he wanted to put his mouth on them, the desire too strong that his cock started twitching at the thought of it), her eyes closed and her lips parted with the pleasure of touching herself. A flush started working up her chest, her cheeks pink, adorably so. But then, she’s throwing her head back and slumping down on a chair. She lifted her legs to rest on her desk, her hands hooking around the waistband of her panties, pushing down and then up the crook of her knee until they’re dangling on one foot – and of course, his view of her cunt was obscured by the desk in front of her.

He groaned, and even though there’s a good few yards in between them, she must know his reaction because she opened her eyes and flashed him a grin, her bottom lip in between her teeth as she tried to _look_ like she’s reining it in. he could have cursed, but she remained nameless to him –

Her hands traveled upwards until she’s plucking both her nipples, her mouth opening and he could just hear her gasp, her mewl as her throat bobbed, as her neck arched – fucking hell.

He took himself in his hand and started stroking, slow as the fingers tracing over her stomach, lower and lower until she reached her cunt – he couldn’t see what she was doing, the agony of the mystery tearing him apart if it weren’t for her eyes pinning him down. He wanted to get up close, to see the faint ring of blue around her dark pupils. He wanted to taste her, fucking run his tongue all over her skin, feel his breasts in his palms, make her fucking _come_ with his mouth, and then his fingers, and then his cock.

His breathing was now coming fast, his strokes becoming pumps, as her right hand stayed playing with her cunt, the other going higher until it reached her mouth, her fingers hooking onto it, her lips closing over her digits and sucking –

The worst thing about this all was that he knew, just by how flushed her chest was, and how quick her breathing had become, that she was close – just like him. So when she closed her eyes and threw her head back with a wordless cry, he came just as she did, so hard that his groan echoed off his walls. He spilt high on his chest, his core shaking with the aftermath.

In the seconds that he tried to get back his breathing to normal, he pondered over the fact that even if it was the wee hours of the morning, there could be people in the building awake and spectating. But he couldn’t care. Somehow, this dirty, nameless girl was enjoying this thing – whatever this thing was – and that’s all that matters.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Leave a kudos or a comment below, or come say hi to me on [tumblr](http://hooksandheroics.tumblr.com)!


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